


you're all i need

by mayangel7



Category: Winner (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-06 01:43:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20498819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayangel7/pseuds/mayangel7
Summary: Don't fall in lovehad been the unspoken rule between the two of them.And yet, Seunghoon would rather have his own heart broken over and over than to see Minho's heart break again.





	you're all i need

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saturnalyia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saturnalyia/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Heart Still Open](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19204327) by [saturnalyia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saturnalyia/pseuds/saturnalyia). 

> to my recipient: i loved your original fic so much. i'm sorry this is so short, but i hope you enjoy this ♡
> 
> the title is inspired by winner's first love.

Finding Minho is the easy part. Even without the light spilling out of the small window to his studio, the only room still occupied at this hour, Seunghoon would have been able to find him through muscle memory alone.

When Seunghoon walks into the studio and Minho looks up at him—that’s familiar too. The exhaustion in Minho’s features is clear, along with the determination and frustration.

“What’s up?” Minho asks, trying for casual and missing the mark.

Seunghoon carefully makes his way over to stand beside him. The studios are small, not really meant for a large gathering, and even the two of them like this feels stifling. “It’s late.” There’s more that he wants to say, but he holds himself back.

“And?” 

There’s still fire in Minho’s eyes. Seunghoon knows that Minho runs on passion, knows the love that he pours into everything he does. It’s that burning need to create that brings Minho to the studio between their busy schedules and keeps him there until he’s satisfied.

But there are physical and mental limits, and Minho seems to be on the edge of his. “And I’ve come to bring you home,” Seunghoon says.

“I’m busy,” Minho argues, his words muffled by his hand. There’s a give in his actions, though, like he’s registering his own exhaustion.

Seunghoon shifts his weight onto his other foot, careful not to disturb anything on Minho’s desk. “You can be busy tomorrow. For now, you need to sleep.” 

Minho breaks eye contact first, turning back to his computer. “The music isn’t good,” he says, but there’s a question in his words. Under the purple glow of the studio lights, Minho looks young, too young to be carrying all the weight that his career places on him.

Seunghoon reaches out and places a hand on top of Minho’s. Like this, he can feel the tension in Minho’s body, even in the tendons of his hands. “It will be. You just need some rest, and tomorrow you’ll make it good.” 

“What if I don’t? What if I never make good music again?” Minho asks, looking up at him like Seunghoon holds all the answers in the world. Looks up at him like he did five years ago, when they were fighting for their debut together, except now he’s working on his solo debut. But he’s not alone.

Seunghoon’s chest aches, his sudden wave of emotions so overwhelming that it’s almost painful. He lowers himself so that they’re at eye level, grasping both of Minho’s hands tightly. “You will,” he says, and he hopes that Minho can hear all the things that he doesn’t say, can’t say. “You’re Song Minho.” 

Minho makes the face that he always makes when he’s about to cry. Usually, Seunghoon would call him out for it, maybe even tease Minho’s sadness away. But right now, Seunghoon feels like he wouldn’t be able to smile without joining in on the crying. So he reaches out instead. Minho’s cheek is soft and warm under his palm; his tears are cold against Seunghoon’s fingertips. 

“Hyung,” Minho says. A few tears escape Seunghoon’s reach.

“Minho,” Seunghoon says, like the answer to an unasked question. He kisses Minho softly—so softly that their lips barely touch, so softly that it should be out of place between them.

The thing is, calculating and overthinking have always been second nature to Seunghoon. It’s gotten him out of more scrapes than he can count, let him have his fun with no harm done. But just now, during this incredibly short and chaste kiss, all those thoughts stop.

When Seunghoon pulls back, there’s only Minho in front of him. His eyes are so warm, almost like a direct entryway to his heart. “Can I stay with you tonight?” 

“I don’t—” Minho blinks, tensing like he’s ready to pull back. “I’m not really in the mood—”

Seunghoon shakes his head quickly, stumbling over the words in his haste to correct himself. “No, not like that. I just—I don’t want you to be alone.” 

“I’ll be fine,” Minho says, but the way he grips Seunghoon’s hand a fraction tighter tells a different story.

“Please,” Seunghoon says, leaning closer, afraid his words will shatter if he speaks them any louder. “I want to be with you.” 

The sun rises slowly, painting the gray sky with streaks of blue and pink. Seunghoon holds back the curtain with one hand and stares blankly through the window. It’s early enough in the morning that it feels like the rest of the world is still waking up. For the moment, Seunghoon can afford to pretend that he’s the only person in this space, this time.

He used to treasure these one or two hours the most. Years ago, when the life he’s living now was still an aspiration rather than a reality, he would go up to the rooftop in the early mornings. No matter how long or tiring the night before would be, just standing there and looking over the top of his building gave him the strength to carry on with his day.

Back then, the dreary conditions of his life were colored by the vivid brightness of his dreams. And he’d worked towards those abstract dreams with a recklessness, a fearlessness, that could only come from inexperience. Even with all the odds stacked against him, Seunghoon had genuinely believed that those dreams would come true.

And they did come true in bits and pieces—the TV appearances, gradual fame, signed contracts, and so many connections. But with every dream that was realized, reality crept in as well. Somewhere in the midst of working towards his dreams, Seunghoon had lost sight of them altogether. 

Yet there are moments when the same burning _want_ curls around his heart, his lungs, and squeezes so tight that it physically hurts. Only now, it seems to come and go at will: while preparing for a comeback with the other tree members, or in the quiet of his own room, or when he’s out with old friends. 

Seunghoon feels it now, thinking about the man still asleep in his bed. Minho who, despite all the setbacks he’d encountered, had never lost sight of his dreams. On the contrary, he’d nurtured them and allowed them to blossom.

“Why are you still awake?” 

Seunghoon starts, nearly falling out of his chair. He’d been so immersed in his own thoughts that he hadn’t even heard Seungyoon enter the living area. “You’re up early,” he says, half turning to see Seungyoon walk across the room, his hair sticking up and his eyes barely open. 

Seungyoon, even half asleep, isn’t so easily thrown off. He leans against the back of the couch and squints at Seunghoon. “Did you even go to sleep? You left home just when I was getting back.” 

“I slept,” Seunghoon says, and there’s some truth in that, at least. He lets go of the curtains, knowing that avoiding Seungyoon will only make him more suspicious. 

Seungyoon’s eyes flicker over Seunghoon’s face. “Hey, what’s wrong?” 

Seunghoon turns away, feeling sick. There’s nothing wrong, really. It’s exactly what he should have expected when he started this—thing with Minho. He’d known that he was playing with fire as he’d trailed his fingers over Minho’s tanned, inked skin and looked into his dark eyes and kissed him, slow and almost sweet, in the quiet of his room. Feeling Minho unravel beneath him, on top of him, beside him—Minho, who was as transparent in his vulnerabilities as he was strong. 

But that was all nothing, compared to feeling Minho fall asleep in his arms. It had been so warm, so comfortable, and Seunghoon wanted nothing more than to protect the younger man from the world. Yet even then, he could feel Minho slipping away from him, leaving behind a distinct ache in his chest.

_Everything’s okay_, Seunghoon repeats to himself. There’s no other option.

Out loud, he says, “Minho’s in my room. He’s still sleeping.” Minho hadn’t even stirred when Seunghoon got up earlier.

Seungyoon’s expression softens. “Seunghoon hyung,” he says, and there’s so much sympathy in his words that it makes Seunghoon’s eyes sting.

Sitting in the room, alone, it’s easy to long for the past—for the days when he’d strived relentlessly towards his goals. But that was before Winner, even before Team A. The trust that they have for each other now had been learned and won through their lowest and highest points. They’ve toed the line of disbandment and marked out their own success.

And there’s a responsibility in all of that, a responsibility that all of them share, but it still becomes overwhelming some days. Seunghoon closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, it’s a little easier to breathe. He gets up, his joints unlocking from being in a fixed position for so long.

Seungyoon chortles, the sound almost covered when Seunghoon cracks his back. Seunghoon reaches out to shove him playfully, not bothering to hide a smile of his own. 

Seunghoon can’t stop thinking about Minho. 

Usually, when Seunghoon dances, he doesn’t think much about anything at all. He just _feels_—the music, the lights, the energy carrying him away until he’s floating. If he’s being entirely honest, he’d come here to forget about Minho.

Just for one night, he wants to escape the suffocating tension that stretches between them. To stop worrying about destroying one of his closest, most valuable relationships—because there’s no way he could have it all, not in this world.

“You okay?” Yerin asks, suddenly appearing by his side at the bar. She lays a hand on his arm, the touch light, her fingers warm. “You seem kind of out of it today.” 

“I’m fine.” Seunghoon sets down his glass—just water—and turns to face her. “What about you? Already tired from dancing?” 

The lights of the club catch on the sharp curve of Yerin’s smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” she says, and it’s as much a question as it is a promise.

Kissing Yerin is easy. It’s a well-practiced choreography, with just enough leeway that it keeps Seunghoon on his toes. Her lips are soft, her hair silky against the back of Seunghoon’s hand. The club spins around them in a blur of neon lights and pounding EDM, and Seunghoon allows his mind to drift in the familiarity of it all.

_Disappointment_, he thinks, cataloguing the downward twist of Minho’s mouth. _Awkwardness_, when he’d only addressed Jinwoo and Seungyoon, refusing to even look at Seunghoon. Until Seunghoon had forced him to do so, and Minho turned to him with all the nonchalance of someone used to hiding his true feelings on camera. Minho’s perfectly even tone, his lack of reaction that was a reaction in itself—

_Heartbreak._ The smile that had never reached his eyes, the rhythm of his footsteps that told a whole story of their own. 

For a moment, Seunghoon wonders if he’s misinterpreted everything. But if there’s even the slightest chance that Minho likes him back—

“Shit,” Seunghoon breathes out.

Yerin pulls back immediately, cupping Seunghoon’s cheek in concern. “What’s wrong?” 

So many things. Seunghoon should never have let Minho walk away. He shouldn’t have hurt Minho while trying to protect his own feelings. At the very least, Minho deserves to know the truth.

“I’m sorry,” Seunghoon says, stepping away, his mind already speeding ahead. The impatience stretches tight under his skin, even as he tries to brush away the fear that he’s _too late, not enough, completely wrong._

Seunghoon didn’t have much to drink—never does, since alcohol heightens his senses and lowers his control in a way that isn’t entirely pleasant. Yet his head is spinning when he stumbles into the backseat of the van, phone clutched tight in one hand. 

Seungyoon gets in next to him, the van door slamming shut. “You’re going back early,” he says, voice casual, but Seunghoon can feel the weight of the younger’s eyes on him, picking him apart. 

“Yeah, I wasn’t feeling it.” Seunghoon exhales, leaning back into his seat, and decides that if he’s going to be honest, he may as well start now. “I want—to talk to Minho.” 

About so many things, really—all the small matters that they’ve glossed over once they started sleeping with each other. Seunghoon had thought they were on the same page, and it was easy, letting his actions express the half-formed thoughts in his mind. Looking back now, Seunghoon sees all the open doors for misinterpretation, the ambiguity of actions alone begging to be colored in with words. 

Seungyoon smiles, touching Seunghoon’s shoulder lightly before leaning back in his seat. He seems a little tipsy, still carrying the traces of alcohol and loud music and youth in his movements. “That’s great. You and Minho will finally work out this shit.” 

Seunghoon laughs, swallowing down his instinctive responses—half teasing, half defensive. He breathes in, deep, and something like hope blossoms in his chest. 

They’ll get this right. If not in the rapidly fading hours of tonight, then tomorrow, or the day after. They’ll get this right.


End file.
